


service dog

by kitenshi



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: also saturn is STILL trans here, and we love him for it, here's another angsty one for yall, idk what to even say about this., this is a vent fic of the oddest sort...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitenshi/pseuds/kitenshi
Summary: Saturn reflects on his relationship with Master Cyrus.
Relationships: Akagi | Cyrus/Saturn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	service dog

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little tw for mild cyber freakishness and implied cybernetics. i dunno. i've toyed with the idea of cyrus "upgrading" his workers to make them function better and faster... but at the same time this is me venting about how i'm scared of technology. i think i just use my phone too much.... heh...... anyway, enjoy. = w =

The things he shows me, and the way he speaks, are to me much too far removed from nature for my tastes.

As in, those convoluted utterances that come without warning from the other room.   
  
When he calls out to us, at his whim, we come. It surprises us, how eager we each become on his word. We perk up like dogs.    
  


He shacks up in his chambers all day. It is highly unreasonable. And no matter how we prod, protest, urge our leader to step back from the fog that chokes him in every conscious moment. It disturbs me incredibly how time becomes swallowed by indifference of the most sinister, severe sort.   
  
We used to revere him. Our sun. It’s hard to talk about it with them. Nowadays, all we do is share repressed fragments of feeling, firewalled behind laughter. We struggle to fight the space, that temporal tear in the spirit that only seems to grow in small increments. Every. Single. Day. !!    
  
It is not without saying that I do harbor appreciation for the - albeit minimal - efforts made by all of our team members to trudge through the storm. 

We  _ process _ maladaptive behaviors. We catalog them accordingly, as any wise person would do. And we carry our defense like a heavy iron shield, painted with the face of a clown. How I loathe the !!SOUND!! it makes while it absorbs every detonation of the heart and deflects them, allowing the feelings to fester, ooze, and crust over on the inside. 

Cyrus and I maintain a strained relationship; he is a man whose emotions are heavily vaulted. He has his moments… where it seems silly that I ever entertained the idea that there was a flaw in our friendship. Where I am very certain that we are, indeed, friends. But those moments are rare. I try to find ways to reassure him that I’m on his side. I am his top admin, after all. We each had a hand in the development of Team Galactic. It’s always been us against the world, me and my Master Cyrus. At least there is one thing that is mutually understood: we will always exist on the fringe of society. There is ‘everyone’, and then there is us: underdogs, renegades, martyrs for the holiest, most valiant of causes.    
  
It annoys me to no end how comfortable he appears sometimes. I  _ know  _ he’s terrified. He’d burn before he’d admit it, but I see it, underneath his steely, collected exterior. We are partners… of course I would take notice. My boss has trained me well in the art of keen observation. It is an important aspect of my job to gather information and assess it. Lately my skills have been lacking, my eyes frightfully foggy compared to how sharp they once were. I’d hate to sound ungrateful, but truthfully I blame the computers and hardware he’s given me. They’ve taken away a great chunk of the rough edges when it comes to carrying out my tasks, but I am taunted by the feeling that I am slowly becoming less… myself. My reflexes revolve around the data I process, but the volume at which I do so is steadily increasing. He needs me wrapped up in all these wires, you see. We have a lot of work to be done.   
  
I fear for us. The collective, the whole of humanity. We are unrelenting in our quest for knowledge… but we are forgetting how to rest. At one point, I was tormented by visions of exponential growth. I saw humans, rejecting the mushy, wasteful parts of their being, in favor of constant, unbreaking communication, 24/7 information pumping through our new, shiny, chrome-alloy appendages. We seek to learn and communicate and that same urge seems to drive us deeper into the artificial extensions of ourselves. It breeds a very unsettling sort of madness in a person, to perform so many functions in our new bodies, because they are complex, confusing, and entirely alien. We are a desperately lonely race. Cyrus and I, though we stand apart from the rest, unfortunately are no different in that regard. And yet, all of this is, somehow, a non-issue for my master.    
  
I suppose he’s contemplated this scenario… the construction of a universal mainframe, a hyper-brain that allows us to shed individual weaknesses and slowly upload our consciousness upon a shared brain. Mankind’s greatest migration yet. It isn’t as far away as people would like to think. In fact, the process is already underway. We’ve begun to host massive amounts of information in superprocessors the size of warehouses. I am reluctant to accept it, to be vulnerable and exposed like that. It’s hard to upload yourself and maintain your privacy. I feel the changes already taking place in my body, which is becoming a vessel whose information-processing duties take precedence over every other mammalian need. There is a terrible ache in my muscles. I don’t know how to secede from this world we’re building. How could I? Everyone else is there. My master tells me I’m blowing things out of proportion. He is so deeply intertwined with his machines. I know he feels the pressure, but it doesn’t appear to bother him in the slightest. I imagine he plans to have reformatted our mindscapes before it becomes a serious threat. 

I  _ want _ to trust him. I used to believe everything he said as if it was the Word of God. Nowadays I am suspect of his intelligence. It  _ kills _ me to admit that. I am still loyal to him - I think I always will be. Servitude and submission are values I’ve been programmed to uphold, beaten into my genetic code. As much as it hurts my pride to say this, I know that I am an inferior being in his world. A succulent poison. And even though I am chained on a short leash, I enjoy a great number of spoils… I am the most desirable asset a man like him could have. My timeless beauty, my surprising level of intelligence, and my compact size make me agreeable to keep around. And I am very well behaved! So much so that he lets me have gifts of fine jewellery, whatever clothes I’d like, the finest foods… I am always pampered when I sit beside him, flicking my tongue, feigning laughter at his jokes. 

The path Master and I walk has always been shrouded in mystery. Our goals are never quite fixed, our daily objectives unplanned, but I am more than used to following his rapid-fire navigation. I’ll admit I trip over my feet sometimes, and I don’t always know where we’re going, but still, I follow him. My sea captain, guiding me with shaky hands through the choppy black waves, engulfed in the dark. He tells me every sea has to end somewhere, that this era of voyage after voyage will come to a satisfying close. Together we will sail over the horizon, drop anchor, and make a new life there. I suppose I shouldn’t be so fearful anymore. My past is behind me. I’m no alley cat anymore… I’ve got Cyrus to care for me. Wherever we find ourselves, so long as I am beside him, so long as I can be of service to him still, I think I will be happy. I fear him, and that’s never going to change. When he extends a hand to me, I always flinch and cower. Nevertheless, this life with him is better than being lost. If I slip into the sea of wires, at least I can be sure I’ll always be right behind him. 


End file.
